


Decadence

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Chubby, Feeding, Gen, Light Dom/sub, Other, POV Second Person, Stuffing, This is trash don't look at me, Weight Gain, but uh if this doesn't look like it's your thing it probably isn't, feeder kiran/reader, im so glad the people agree bc i need chubby alfonse like i need oxygen, im so sorry, incredibly self-indulgent feedist porn and all that, kiran's gender is never specified so it's up to you there, there are like two other weight gain fics with alfonse already?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alfonse has been feeling insecure lately.You can help.





	Decadence

**Author's Note:**

> gOD THIS IS SO TRASHY IM ///// BURIES FACE IN HANDS
> 
> i didnt bother proofreading apologies in advance but oh my goodness i really needed chubby alfonse content and people have managed to deliver so i cant help bein inspired haha
> 
> don't let me have fave characters you guys

You push the strawberry to Alfonse’s lips and he opens them for it with a whimper, slick softness wrapping eagerly around your fingers. You let the digits linger on his lips after he’s swallowed, tracing delicately over the curve, swollen and pink although you haven’t kissed him yet tonight.

He sucks in a shuddering breath, already sounding wrecked although you’ve only just started with him, wrists twitching uselessly against his restraints. He takes another one and you take your cue to trail your hands from his mouth down over his body with glee. He flinches away, still not used to the attention you love to give to every inch of his body; he’s just as shy as he was a month or so ago when you two kind of started this whole… weird _thing_ you have going on now, even though the results of it have become increasingly obvious.

It had started when you became addicted to watching Alfonse eat- the way his lips look when they’re wrapped around his fork, eyes fluttering closed to sigh happily, almost a moan- it feels… _erotic_. With the dedication he has to the Order of Heroes, when funds are low (which is always) he tended to go without eating much (again, always), so you always had to savor the rare moments you got to see it. You’d resolved to yourself then to make sure it got to happen far more often, and things had snowballed from there.

You probably shouldn’t have tried to get him to eat more for the first time by bringing food to bed- especially not by having him eat it off you- because it just made you realize how much you wanted to be the one doing that. The one making him eat, giving him more, stuffing him until he couldn’t take any more and then making him take more anyways.

It scared you how weirdly perverse that was, but a part of you liked it; enough to force him back on the bed and give him more of the food you’d prepared until he was panting hard and looked almost uncomfortable, stomach in a little swell that shouldn’t have sent heat racing into your gut the way it did. Still, though he moaned whenever you slid more food down his throat, and occasionally whimpered, he still never used the safe word.

The level of trust he has in you is dizzying, sometimes.

Not that, of course, he isn’t into it. In what you’re doing to him. What had started off as a one-off thing became more and more frequent until you were sneaking food to stuff him with every night, delighting in the way it had started to affect him within a week. His belly had softened, not altogether too noticeably but enough that it was driving you crazy; newfound softness in his hips and waist just made sex more exciting, not to mention the wonders it was doing for his thighs. Still, only a little bit of pudge wasn’t what you had wanted, even if you were more than ashamed to admit it. So you’d kept going, and he’d kept letting you, and you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed it.

He’s much softer everywhere now, body all curves and rolls you’re always dying to touch. The way his thighs squish together whenever he sits drives you crazy- you always find a way to sneak a hand to them during council meetings. His arms have lost much definition, growing soft and lovely, and his pecs are soft and just generally wonderful to play with; you suppose they could be considered breasts, now. You’ve taken to sucking on the near double chin he’s developed whenever you can, leaving small hickeys on the soft lip of flesh. Your favorite, though, is his belly. It’s become so _soft_ , so much a part of him you can’t imagine what his old slender princely figure had used to look like. You’ve “borrowed” spell books from Robin and enchanted his pants three sizes up already, and still they bite deliciously into the roll around his middle, his belly swelling over the waistband and resting in his lap when he sits. It gives you a sense of pride, that all that soft flesh is yours, that it’s your doing, that this perfect chubby little prince is _yours_.

It’s so _sensitive_ , all the fat that’s accumulated since you’ve begun this, stretch marks streaking the flesh in little trails you love running your tongue over whenever you can. He’s so shy, embarrassed of the weight, but you’ve made him come just from playing with his belly on multiple occasions. When he’s in that blissed-out post-orgasmic haze he’s so much more pliant and loose-lipped, and he’s admitted, only half-aware of himself, how much he likes this, likes feeling warm and fat and sated, overfull, bursting. He _likes_ being able to feel greedy and lazy for a moment, your perfect fucktoy, all yours to fatten as you please. He _likes_ what he’s become just as much as he hates himself for letting himself become like this.

You’re not blind and neither is he; you’ve both heard the whisperings of other royals and among the ranks of your army, you’ve seen the lingering stares and hidden frowns. It pulls him back into a dark place in his mind, fear and self-hatred blotting out his genuine pleasure with so much as a single snide comment. The looks light a fire in you, a pride- this is _mine_ , he is _mine_ , and now you’re all going to see that with every pound, every inch he gains- it’s the closest to exhibitionism he’d let you get.

But when you see the way he flinches each time he catches a sneer, and all you can do is hold him when you’re out of sight, you wish there was something more you could do. He has never believed he is beautiful; try as you might you’re afraid he never will. But he _is_ , he’s so, so gorgeous, chubby or not (although you have to admit it’s your fault he’s pushing the border into fat, and it turns you on beyond belief), and you need to convince him somehow.

That’s what tonight’s spread is for. He’d gotten a snide comment from a royal who couldn’t keep their mouth shut about his more recent weight gain- you’d been increasing his portions to try to alleviate some of the stress from trying to deal with Embla’s latest attacks and god, did it pay off- and he’d ended up crying into your arms for hours. All you could do was hold him as he fell apart, the stress of the last few months coupled with all his recent self-doubt unraveling all at once. He’d apologized to you through muffled sobs, tears too wet on your shoulder and body shaking too much in your arms. What hurt the most, though, was how desperately he’d begged you not to leave him; how he’d pleaded with you not to dump him even though he’d gotten _fat_ , asked through broken whispers if you could possibly still love him like _this_ . If you could ever love someone like _him_ . Your heart had shattered just as much as his own, but it had filled you with a fiery determination. Now, you plan to love the _fuck_ out of every inch of him until he gets it through his head that you’re _never_ going to leave him.

You toss the top of the strawberry aside and pull back to observe the sight laid before you. Alfonse’s hands are bound, gently, stretched up above his head and tied to the bed frame, leaving his body on full display. His pudge is already littered with old hickeys, bite marks, and battle scars, but you can’t wait to start lavishing the soft flesh with affection anyways. His stomach shakes as he draws in a shuddering breath, still shaky from emotions- you can see his eyes shine with tears even as he bites back a whimper at the fire in your gaze, and you smooth his hair back gently to kiss the tears away.

“No toys tonight,” you murmur, reaching for a chocolate. Something small, manageable. “I’m going to make this all about taking care of you, okay?”

You push the chocolate to his lips before he has time to respond and he takes it eagerly before he processes what you’ve said and his face shifts to turn a furious red. Ah, he’s flustered. You love him like that, blushing and soft and overwhelmed.

He swallows and tries his best to meet your gaze, blinking hard past tears in those blue eyes. “I- you don’t have to- to humor me,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t- shouldn’t even- I don’t deserve-”

You smooth a hand through his hair again and run a thumb over one soft cheek. “Alfonse. I love you, okay? Please believe me, _I love you_ , I love what we have, I love this, and I’ll love you no matter what your weight is. I’m right here if you want to stop this, and I’m right here if you want to keep going. I’m here to give you whatever you want, because _I love you.”_

Alfonse gapes for a moment, those lips you love so much framing a perfect _o._ You give him a moment to recover, sitting patiently back without touching him. He blinks hard, and finally manages to murmur, “Could you… could you kiss me?”

Normally in bed, he doesn’t make these requests; as far as your sex life goes he is the perfect submissive, always compliant, always coming apart perfectly for you to put back together again. But right now is about making him feel good about himself. You don’t need any other prompting before you kiss him gently, hands coming to rest at his waist and latching onto prominent love handles. He whimpers into your mouth and you deepen the kiss, easing him back on the bed again and digging your fingers further into his soft sides.

You pull back for a moment, question on your lips, but Alfonse is in tune with you enough to know what you’re going to ask him already. “I- I’d still like to keep doing this, yes,” he murmurs. “Maybe we should pause, maybe it would be wise to try to lose some of… _this_ , but- but right now, I don’t care about that.” He flushes darker after that, and you can’t help but kiss him again, smiling warmly against his lips.

 _“Good boy,”_ you croon, and Alfonse makes a strangled noise that sends heat flooding through you. He’s already hard, trying not to rut his hips up- you smile at that; you’ve taught him well- his pretty little cock pressing into his belly. He’s always had a thing for praise, you’ve realized, and you can abuse that absolutely mercilessly to great result. Despite his own inferiority issues, praise in bed leaves him a wreck. You’re about to make the absolute most of it.

“Now, let me make you feel good,” you murmur, bringing your hands back to his love handles with glee. He moans at the touch, already leaking precum at your words alone. “Let me show you gorgeous you are, how pretty, what a perfect little prince you are, _just for me.”_

He whimpers and subconsciously tilts his head to the side. You take the chance to nip at the soft flesh of his neck, drawing out breathy moans he couldn’t hide if he tried. God, Alfonse is always so loud in bed, so needy, and you can’t help but love it.

“Do you know your limits, Alfonse?” you let your heated whisper ghost over the skin. “Do you know how much food you can take before that pretty belly is fit to burst?”

He moans helplessly. You smile. That’s a no.

You’ve grown accustomed to his limits, yourself, and you know the amount of food you have for tonight is beyond them on most normal occasions. If he _doesn’t_ know, though, he might be able to take it all anyways, and god if that won’t be the hottest sex you’ve ever had.

“Then let’s find out, shall we?” you whisper. He nods eagerly, mutely, letting you shift him back so he’s sitting upright and pull his wrists down from the bedframe, even if they’re still bound- and god if his weight against your hands doesn’t have you biting back a groan. Everything about him is almost unbearable in its perfection.

You start slow- the strawberries and chocolates are ornamentation, for show more than anything, but you hand-feed him the entire box anyways, unable to resist when he moans so prettily around the food.

Starting on the main bulk of the food feels like a religious experience; Alfonse wolfs the rich meats you’ve brought him down like they’re nothing, offering nothing but the most _delectable_ moans and whimpers. He’s so downright adorable like this, and god, you love him.

When you’ve finally finished the main course of the food you’ve brought for him tonight, you lean back a little, and he practically purrs as your hands find their way to his belly with practiced ease. He’s not near his limits yet, belly still hardly swollen from the food, but you’ll admit you just want an excuse to touch him. He arches up as your hands sink into the softness, kneading gently, and turns his head to hide a burp. Normally you’d wait till he was at his limits, belly swollen and hard, to give him a proper tummy rub, but if you’re going to get all this down, it’s probably best to be periodical about it all.

(You’re not a tactician for nothing, you note with pride at your own plan.)

You pull over the first pie and he exhales contentedly, tilting his head back as you bring the first bite to his mouth with your fork. “I got you your favorite, Alfonse,” you murmur heatedly, hand that isn’t busy feeding him pie moving to pinch at the softness of his underbelly, pressing almost uncomfortably down on his cock. You don’t give that any attention yet, despite how hard he is. “Blueberry, yeah? Just like you. So blue and round… you’re my little blueberry, Al.”

He finishes one slice and moves on to his second, not even attempting to hold back his whimpers. He’s so loud, you wonder if the whole castle will hear him. A selfish part of you hopes they do; they need to see how much you love him. “And you’ve become quite a _pampered_ little blueberry, hmm?” He bites his lip hard, flushing deeper, and you grin. “Too lazy to eat your own food… but you’re so gorgeous like this, baby. I’m gonna fill you up, stuff you till you can’t move, so everyone knows that you’re _mine.”_

The pie is gone too fast, Alfonse tilting his head back with a desperate moan, and you pause to kiss the crown of his belly before starting on the second one. A slice through through is when it starts to hit him, and he squirms a little when you raise another mouthful to his lips.

“Think you can finish, baby?” you breathe, shifting forward to give him a quick kiss. His lips taste of blueberries.

Alfonse has to pause for a moment to catch his breath, and you rub circles on his belly encouragingly, but he nods before muffling another burp. You grin and persist, and through Alfonse’s labored breaths and your hand rubbing soothing ministrations on his tummy, he gets down the rest of the pie. (You’ll admit you made this one much larger and richer than the first, so sue you. Watching him pant around bites is your own special heaven).

You toss the other pie tin aside and turn to set your attentions on his belly, packed tight and round, practically pushing into your hands. He can only moan and do his best to cover his burps with a flush of embarrassment, putty in your hands.

And yes, you think, pressing into another soft roll to relieve his tension, he’s _putty_ indeed.

You’re pretty sure you could get yourself off just like this- Alfonse under your hands, Alfonse and his pretty moans and his perfect curves, Alfonse, _Alfonse, Alfonse_. You manage to rub away most of the painfully hard-looking swell, cooing as he has to lean back and spread his thighs to allow his overstuffed belly room. Gods.

You lean forward to mouth at his soft pudge, nipping at his underbelly while your hands massage over the dome of his stuffed gut. You smile as he moans and grant him a kiss to the flushed tip of his cock, an action that has him coming undone before you can stop him. His voice breaks as he comes, streaking his own belly with white ropes of cum, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning too at how completely you have taken him apart already. He’s always been sensitive, always came too fast, but for it to take this _little…_ it’s pleasing more than you’ll admit.

Still, you hadn’t permitted him to come yet, and although tonight is about _him_ , you’re determined to have him coming again from some actual action. You idly swipe your finger through the cum on his belly, scooping some from where it’s ended up in a gentle fold, and bring it to his lips. He swallows without protest, used to this by now, and you methodically clean him, unable to restrain from finger-fucking his mouth. You’re all too aware that his belly is too sore for him to move right now, so it’s up to you to take care of him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” you rasp, claiming his lips again and licking the last traces of him from inside his mouth. He shivers, and god if that doesn’t make his pudge jiggle in the most _delectable_ way; your mouth has never been drier. You lick your lips as you pull away from the kiss and start to kiss your way down his body, reveling in his moans when you scrape teeth across the soft skin. When you’ve finally kissed along his underbelly, you tease the tip of his cock- erect again- for only a moment before taking it into your mouth, moving his belly out of the way with your hands. The resulting moan is so loud you might have just come on the spot; _god_ , you love getting him like this.

You hum around his cock, and his resulting strangled gasp is too satisfying- you slip a hand down to work yourself, even though you know you intend to come on him; to mark him as your own. You also know full well he can’t see you and right now can barely move to stroke your hair the way he likes to- he’s always been sentimental- so you sigh and pull nearly all the way off his cock for a moment to get yourself closer to the edge, then reach your hand back up to thread with his own, even bound as it is.

His chubby fingers tighten immediately when you take him again, deepthroating with practiced ease. He pants hard and you can feel him strain against his restraints. “ _Oh_ , god… _please-_ ”

You love teasing him when he’s on the brink, but tonight there’s a desperation in the air. You’re pretty sure by now you both just want to come as soon as possible.

His grip tightens again, too hard- a warning, he’s close- and you return to your job with relish, swallowing him down as he comes again with a cry of your name. Before you swallow the last of his seed, you pull off and move up to kiss him sloppily again, pressing firm against his belly; it squishes against your own flat one and it’s all you can do to keep from coming on the spot. He whimpers as you have him swallow himself again, and you grind your hips down against him, a hand reaching to work yourself again till you’re coming all over his belly; it doesn’t take very long. Sighing as you come down from your high, you relax against him.

For a moment, neither of you speak. When you find your voice, it’s a light laugh that he joins in on after a moment.

“That was… _so good,”_ you murmur softly. “You’re _perfect_ , you know that? I love you.”

Alfonse sighs, already beginning to drift. He has a habit of falling asleep right after sex, but since it only serves to help the results of your stuffing sessions stick around whenever he tries to sleep them off, you couldn’t possibly complain. “I love you too,” he murmurs. “I…I just- thank you.”

You smile and roll off of him, moving to undo his restraints and rub away the soreness there, as well as on his belly. He closes his eyes, looking blissed out, and you plant a kiss to his brow gently, smoothing back his hair. He looks downright angelic like this, and you couldn’t feel luckier to have him.

You know you ought to go clean up, know everything will be sticky in the morning and you’re both clumsy enough that one of you is going to step in one of the pie tins on the floor when you get out of bed, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Alfonse latches onto your hand and murmurs “Don’t go…”

So help you, you’d do _anything_ for this boy.

So mess be damned, pie tins be damned, you shrug and curl up next to him, already feeling sleep tugging at you too even as you drape an arm over him to feel the weight of his belly, soft and secure, a perfect testimony to your love for him. You nuzzle your face into his hair, and he nearly purrs, and the royals’ snide comments are forgotten. All that matters is _this_. You only allow yourself one thought before you sleep.

Gods, you love him so much.

 

(In the morning, his belly is just that much softer and larger than it was the day before, new weight settling easily on his short frame. You bust out the toys and fuck him absolutely senseless. The both of you end up stepping in pie tins. It’s a pretty good morning.)

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T LOOK AT ME


End file.
